


Heartache

by snowyfoxpaws



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking, Falling In Love, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfoxpaws/pseuds/snowyfoxpaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England doesn't quite grasp the meaning of the strange feeling in his chest whenever America is near.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> About a month back I held a contest on one of my ask blogs. The prizes could be either art or writing, the prompt provided by the winner.
> 
> This story is for the third place prize, which goes to the lovely [empressvegah](http://empressvegah.tumblr.com/).

It was all England's idea.

The secretary, that is. America was so very unorganized that it just so happened one day that the English nation had advised he employ someone to do the task for him. If America couldn't handle being responsible and completing his work on time, then obviously someone else was far more suited for the task. He'd even advised him towards a few different popular services, one in particular he'd used himself once. Of course they were men and women of the highest caliber, sworn to complete secrecy. He had a great deal more trust in such services than he'd be comfortable admitting.

It was simply a pair of extra hands.

Yet it wasn't supposed to be quite so... intimate.

Was it?

It was chance that England dropped by that evening, in town on other business he'd claim, and so it pleased him to walk into the building that housed the nation's office only to find a woman at the front desk, looking up at him with warm, yet calculating eyes.

"May I help you?" Polite, too.

"Yes." He said, smiling at her. "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

The woman hardly missed a beat as a flash of recognition lit her face only momentarily before it was hidden beneath a calm, kind composure. "Go right in. He's been expecting you."

Has he now? England would have raised a brow at that but he didn't want to give off how interested in that fact he was. No, instead he helped himself to the door of the room, entering the office and closing it again behind him with a slide and a click.

America was sitting at his desk, feet propped up and a hamburger hanging half out of his mouth as he watched some sort of mini-television that was propped up on the surface in front of him.

"Charming." England said, wrinkling his nose as he approached the other man.

America had the decency to pull the sandwich out of his mouth, still chewing on a bite before he swallowed. "It's my break." He explained.

"Yes, of course it is." England said, not missing the look America shot at his obvious sarcasm. "Now if you would be so kind, I need the forms regarding currency exchange."

To his surprise, America waved his hand at a file cabinet. "They're all right there." He told him.

And indeed they were. England looked through, mildly impressed that they were even in the right order. Normally he had to harass the other man into completing what he needed, meaning he was required to stay for a few days in order to ensure it, but here the documentation was, already prepped and ready to go...

England frowned. This felt strangely like a hollow victory.

"Well, um..." He stared down at the packet in his hands. "It seems she's doing quite well for you."

"What? Sarah? Yeah..." America said absentmindedly, attention already back on the television.

There was a sudden burn in his chest that England didn't quite understand, nor did he like. "Is that so...?"

America looked up at him, brow raised. "Yeah. I mean, you're the one who said I should hire someone, right? And the whole thing's right there so you don't even need to stay over or anything."

The burning feeling suddenly increased, making England feel breathless. "Yes-- I suppose that's true..."

"So what's the problem?"

England stared at him for a long moment, those words running around in his head like a train of horses. "There isn't one." He finally said, standing up straight. He stiffly put the packet into his briefcase. He wanted to say something-- anything...

But what? Ah.

"Well, while I'm in town, would you be interested in--,"

"What, tonight?" America looked up at him. "I have this dinner party I'm going to, so I can't do anything tonight."

England swallowed. A dinner party? Since when did _America_ attend dinner parties?

"I know what you're thinking," America said, laughing at his expression, "but Sarah said it'd be good for my public image, so she's gonna coach me on proper etiquette and stuff."

Why did that idiot look so insufferably happy at the prospect of being taught etiquette when England had volunteered to teach him countless times only to be rejected?

Oh.

Perhaps because now it was a pretty woman?

"Well, I'll let you be then." England said slowly, beginning for the door.

"See ya." America called out after him, barely paying attention.

 

 

That night England canceled reservations at the restaurant he knew America liked, a strange sort of angry heat in his chest. Perhaps it was better that the other nation was busy. It was more than apparent that England was coming down with something if this persistent burn was anything to go by.

Returning to Europe, the feeling eased and, for a time, England relaxed, distracted by the turbulent politics of the nations surrounding him.

And then the world conference began.

 

 

"You want to room with... _moi?"_ France said slowly, peering at him as though he'd grown a second head. "Are you ill, _l'Angleterre?"_ The invasive nation was quick to slip a hand onto his forehead, to which England ducked away from but not before, " _Non_ , you seem fine to me..."

"It's none of your business, frog." The English nation said acidically.

"Well, _non_ , it is my business because you are now requesting I make poor Canada swap with you..."

"Good. He shouldn't be roomed with you anyway." England said stiffly.

France peered at him--really _peered_ at him--suspicion dancing in his eyes. "Did something happen with America?"

"No!" England said a bit too quickly, flushing bright as France's face lit up in triumph. "It has nothing to do with that idiot, I just need to actually get some work done. In fact, if you might switch instead of Canada, that would be brilliant."

France was just grinning at him, open and wide and full of mirth. " _Non_."

England glowered. "No what?"

"No, I think I quite like this room." France said. "It has a very nice view."

Exhaling his exasperation, England looked into the room. "Canada?"

The boy was already packing up his belongings, bless his heart. "I'll switch with you, England." He said, voice quiet.

He could have very well hugged the boy for that, but his triumph died at the grin on France's face. "What?"

The Frenchman just shook his head. "Nothing, _l'Angleterre_." A smile that betrayed the lie in those words. "Nothing at all."

 

 

"Wait, what are you doing here?" America asked Canada, frowning openly as his brother nation unpacked his belongings for the second time.

Canada simply looked at him, perplexed. "England wanted to swap rooms with me."

"With you? Aren't you normally paired with France?"

"Yes..."

America stared at him for a long moment, brow furrowed. "England... wanted to be with _France?"_

Canada watched him for a moment before, "Did something happen between the two of you?"

"What? No. Everything's been great lately!"

"Yeah?" Because somehow that must not have been the case and it was apparent that both of them were thinking along the same lines. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, well-- I mean, I think so."

"Hm." Canada hummed shortly, returning to the task of unpacking. "Perhaps you should talk to him?"

"I guess I will..."

 

 

It was after the first day's meeting had concluded that America snagged England's wrist, dragging the protesting nation into a side room as gossip already started to flutter about concerning what most assumed to be a secret sex life.

"Christ, America, what do you think you're--,"

"England, why did you switch rooms with Canada?" America interrupted him, looking angry and tousled and tired but, most of all, looking betrayed.

"I beg your pardon?" Was all England could muster, the reason bringing forth thoughts that he had tried hard to suppress as his chest broke out in a pained heat that he didn't really understand. Perhaps this was an allergy of sorts? One to stress maybe? Because he certainly felt a great deal of that right about now. "What are you on about?"

"Don't--!" America said, voice angry and loud as he approached him. And then, somehow, England's back his a wall and those fists flattened out so that the other nation could press down against the wall on either side of his head. "Don't act like it's nothing. It's not nothing. Why are you avoiding me?"

England rolled his eyes at the obvious temper tantrum. "What makes you think this is about you? Perhaps I had other reasons."

America backed off at that, looking hurt, but then that emotion was swallowed in something darker. "Okay." He said, voice lacking any feeling at all. "I understand."

And with that the nation left him there as England's head spun trying to make sense of it all.

 

 

"He's going out with France."

Canada spat out his water all over himself, garnering a wide-eyed look from his brother. "N- No..." He sputtered, momentarily taken aback as he shook his head. "They're not a couple."

"It's the only thing that makes sense." America replied bitterly, reclined on the hotel bed with a half-eaten pizza in front of him. 

There was porn playing on the television. Canada wasn't sure why, but there it was. Gay porn, in fact. He hadn't dared to ask. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, France is always coming on to him, right? And he hates France, so the only thing that makes sense is that he no longer hates when France does that or... something..."

That was fairly reasonable, but it was still wrong. Canada was acutely aware of how _wrong_ it was, all things considered, because he and France had secretly been together for some time now, not that he was about to tell America that. "Well I don't think it's like that. Are you sure you didn't do anything at all to set him off?"

"I didn't even see him!" America balked.

"Did anything happen the last time you two met?"

America looked at him, thoughtful. "Well, I... had all my work done in advance for once. I thought he'd be happy."

"Was he?"

"..." America's brow furrowed. "I don't know." He admitted. "I was watching the game."

Canada didn't bother to ask what 'the game' was. There was always 'the game' going on as far as America was concerned, not that he was any better. "So, what, you weren't even paying attention?"

"Uh..." America made a face. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"Probably."

"And you're _sure_ he's not dating France?"

"Absolutely certain."

"... Shit."

 

 

Once Canada had explained what he knew of the situation to him, France constructed a plan. It was simple, really. The two morons were obviously head over heels for each other, they just needed a little lubrication to slide home... so to speak.

And what better social lubricant was there than alcohol?

It wasn't uncommon for the nations to go out drinking after meetings. They'd congregate in a pub or bar, effectively taking it over for the night as the owners tried in vain to accommodate the influx of inebriated ambassadors.

This was one such night, however it had the funny little quirk of a certain Englishman, petulant and irritable as he cradled a pint and listened to France babble at him. He wasn't certain why he was here or how, exactly, the other blond had convinced him, but there they were, Spain and Prussia busting their lungs on karaoke as the thrum of happy, giddy-drunk nations provided a warm back drop for this drinking experience.

He took another swig of his ale, because god help him if this was how he was to spend the rest of his night.

And then, suddenly, it all got worse.

"Oh, _l'Amerique_ , you decided to come as well?" The nation to his side crooned, now turned towards the front entrance, and England peered out from around him warily, hoping he'd misheard.

A pang sprang to life in his chest at the sight of America standing there in a white, button-up shirt, a timid looking Canada at his side.

"Take a seat, take a seat~," France welcomed, and Canada, to England's despair, seated himself next to France, leaving only...

"Mind if I sit here?" America asked, plopping down on the bar stool next to him without waiting for an answer, as was his nature.

"I do, in fact." England told him, turning away slightly even if it meant facing more towards France.

"Forget to take the stick out before you got here?" The younger nation said, elbowing him in the side harder than he'd probably realized as he waved over the bartender and ordered a drink. Some kind of cocktail thing. England never kept track of America's fickle fancies.

Huffing, he didn't even honor the other nation's words with a response, instead choosing to nurse his drink and ignore him. Maybe then he'd go away and, so too, the aching in his chest.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't be like that, old man." America said, voice almost, but not quite, a whine.

England turned slightly, leveling him with an unimpressed look. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" England drawled not-so-subtly.

"No, not really." America said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "Sarah kind of took care of all my notes, so I'm pretty free, actually."

At the sound of the doe-eyed, blonde's name, England's grip tightened on his pint and he suddenly knocked back half of it in one go.

"Whoa--," America said, staring at him. "You want to get drunk or something?"

"Yes." England said honestly before finishing it off. And then he demanded a second pint of the barkeep, who provided happily.

"Geez, what's gotten into him?" America said to France, who was grinning at the both of them.

And then those icy blue eyes glimmered at England as the Frenchman said to America, "So, your secretary... Is she cute?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah I guess so."

Ouch. His chest was burning again and England felt his hands tremble as he worked some of the ale into his mouth, sipping at the cup.

"Oh, la, la-- do you have a picture?"

America made a face. "Maybe, but I'm not giving it to you."

"You... You have a picture of her... on your person--?" England said, barely able to veil his surprise.

"Well, yeah. See..." America fished out his wallet, pulling a little image from it for England to see.

It showed that woman, Sarah, smiling and holding a little girl.

"That's her daughter, Mary, and-- whoa, _shit_ \-- why are you crying!?"

England blinked. "What?" He exhaled. His heart felt like it was on fire. He could barely feel anything aside from the heated agony in his chest.

"England!?"

"I..." He swallowed, feeling breathless.

And then the world sort of spun and fell into darkness.

 

 

When England woke again, everything felt oddly fuzzy and he squinted up at the ceiling, the softness beneath him giving away that he was on some sort of bed. He groaned, running his palms over his face and rubbing at his eyes.

"You're awake? About time, sleepyhead."

England's eyes snapped open as he jolted up into a sitting position, the motion making his head spin. Hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pushing him back down. "Whoa there-- take it easy. You already collapsed once."

"Collapsed?" England said, peering up at America through unsteady vision. He honestly didn't think he'd drunk that much, so the ache of his body and the heaviness of his heart was utterly baffling.

"Yeah. Scared me half to death."

There was a pause as England blinked up at him, America suddenly staring off at a wall with an absurd amount of interest.

"Anyway..." Drawled the other nation, sky blue eyes glancing down at him with open concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." England lied. "I'm fine."

"Liar."

He blinked up the accusation. "Beg pardon?"

"You always kind of... never mind." America shook his head. "Anyway, if you're not feeling well you should just say so. Sarah says that if you hide it, it just gets worse and--,"

"You know what? I bloody well don't care what Sarah has to say, thank you!" England snapped, tone dripping with bitterness. He flushed suddenly at his own outburst, which only worsened as America stood there, silent. "What?"

America was biting his lip-- a motion he always did when he was consumed with thought. It unnerved England slightly. Yet before he could pursue it, the other nation glanced away, laughing slightly. "Man, I don't know what I'm gonna do when she goes on maternity leave though. I'm gonna be a mess." He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I've gotten lazy lately, haven't I?"

England stared at him, trying to comprehend the slight shift in topic. "Er... yes. You have." He said, sour. And then, "She's going on maternity leave?"

"Yeah." America's eyes were fond as he said, "She and her husband had been trying for a while, you know. Here and there. Between business trips."

"Is that... so...?"

America just laughed softly. "Well, he's, uh..." The nation scratched his cheek idly. "British, actually. A dual-citizen now and... I don't know. Sometimes she would bring her daughter in and it's so funny, you know, because one moment she talks like a good ol' American and the next moment her mom's trying to get her to stop saying 'arse' and 'bugger'."

Despite himself, England felt a strange sort of smile creep onto his face at the image. "I see."

"Yeah. I'm really gonna miss them." America sighed, shaking his head. "She kept me real organized too. I could hardly find anything because it'd be where it's supposed to be..."

For a moment England just sat there, suddenly marveling at how light his chest felt. "I... suppose I could come and, well..." He cleared his throat. "You need someone to look after you, after all. Especially now that you've gotten worse-- it'd be foolish to leave you unattended."

America smiled at him and England felt an odd little flush creep onto his cheeks. "Yeah." He said, voice soft. "I'd like that."

A feeling of gentle euphoria burst to life within him.

And, oh...

_Oh_ .

So that's _love_ , isn't it?


End file.
